Façade
by SexAndMoree
Summary: "'You're not emotionally wrecked, you're just hurt. There's a big difference.' She could tell he chose his words carefully, otherwise she wouldn't have been so affected by them." / Spencer's latest actions round her up into a support group, where she meets Toby Cavanaugh, the witty leader, who plans on helping her, whether she likes it or not.


_Façade: Trigger warning. Includes self harm. Sorry for any mistakes, I'm typing this on a tiny iPhone!_

Chapter 1

"Where have you been, Spencer?"

His chocolate eyes that once looked so warm were just plain menacing. They were fierce. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor slowly. She was reluctant to walk near him, afraid of what he would say. She had snuck away from him on their date that night because he had continuously yelled at her.

"I'll forgive you this time," he said, which surprised her. Her smile was hopeful, like she finally felt warm inside. "But you should go home, darling. I have some matters to attend to for the rest of the night." He placed a sweet kiss on her temple and then pulled her in for a gentle hug. She felt safe. And she remembered why she loved him.

She nodded her head before walking outside. He waved at her through the clear glass windows and started jogging up the stairs. She was about to turn away, and walk away for the night. But she knew better... She knew that he always said he had 'matters' to take care of. She wanted to know_ what_ those matters were. She wasn't weak. She thought she deserved to know.

She bet he wasn't smart enough to lock the door. She didn't see him lock the door, so he probably didn't. Her hand trembled as she twisted the knob of the door. He would be so angry if he knew she was spying. So if he asked, she would just say that she wanted to ask him out to dinner the next night, to make up for her disappearance that night. She smiled proudly at her excuse as she walked up the stairs of his house.

Her stomach churned as she twisted the knob of his bedroom. It was the truth she had been waiting to find out for the longest time. Her heart was racing, her palms were sweating, and to be honest, she was a little scared to see what he was doing. But she trusted that her sweetheart was a good person. He never would mean any harm. She smiled, feeling reassured by that thought. Wren Kingston was a good person.

With that, she threw the door open. There was Wren Kingston, shirtless and on top of some blonde bimbo. The brunette gasped. He wasn't a good person if he was doing whatever the hell _this_ was. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes. Her vision was blurred by the threatening tears, but she could see him pulling back from the kiss with the blonde girl. He turned his head and stared at Spencer. He had been caught red handed. Spencer shivered. It was so cold. It was so horrible. It hurt. Now she knew that the girls on TV shows weren't overreacting when they got cheated on. Being cheated on hurt like hell. It was more than a break up, it was being freaking cheated on!

"How could you?" she demanded, her voice strained.

"I—" he began, but she didn't even want to hear it.

"You're sick!" she screamed. "_Sick_!"

She slammed the door and sprinted down the stairs. She didn't stop sprinting there, though. She kept going. She sprinted as fast as her JV field hockey legs could carry her. She felt stupid and worthless. She wasn't good enough for that guy. She wasn't good enough. She wasn't good enough for anyone! Whatever she did, it was never right. She would never amount to anything. She would never live up to Melissa. She thought that maybe she was better than Melissa in some ways, since Wren preferred her over Melissa, but she was wrong. Clearly he was just some sick player, and she wasn't good enough for him.

* * *

This is for not being good enough for him.

_Cut_

This is for not being better than Melissa.

_Cut_

This is for never being good enough for the parents.

_Cut_

And this—this is for being a worthless person.

_Cut_

* * *

Maybe four wasn't a good idea. Maybe it wasn't, because one less would have saved her from coming _here_. She sighed a harsh breath as she sat down in a seat. Her mom looked at her with a concerned look before exiting the door with her dad and Melissa. She was surprised that Melissa wasn't smirking at her. Everyone in the room looked scarred. They all seemed emotionally screwed. Was she one of them, too? Maybe she was. Just maybe.

"Welcome." The voice was low. The young man sat in the center of the circle of wrecked heads. He seemed calmer than them, though. He wasn't emotionally screwed like everyone else. He was sane. "Let's start out simple. I'm going to go around the circle, and when it's your turn, you are going to say your name, and why you're here."

When he got to her, she froze. She didn't know what to say. It was all about honesty, right? If she wanted to be fixed, she would have to just get it over with. The man could fix her. All these people would help her through it. She had support. That was the point of being here. She was starting to believe that she was one of them. They were all just like her.

"I'm Spencer Hastings," she began, "and I'm here because I'm worthless and screwed."

There was some laughter. The young man in the center looked up at her with a small smile. She was surprised at the reaction she got, because she was just being bluntly honest. She didn't sugar coat her reasoning for being here like everyone else did. She said it vaguely, but she said it bluntly.

"Okay," he said, sighing. "Why don't we take a break? There are snacks on the table over there. Feel free to help yourself."

Most people, except a few anorexics and bulimics, rushed themselves to the table. She felt bad. Her reason for being there wasn't as bad as everyone else's. Some of the people starved themselves and truly were emotionally wrecked, and she was here because she was a wimp. There were people with real problems, and she was wasting everyone's time by pitying herself. She remembered that her friend Hanna used to be like them. It hurt her. They were real sufferers, and Spencer wasn't.

"Hey jokester."

When she looked up, it was the young man that was leading the support group. He had oceany blue eyes and sandy hair. She giggled to herself because those featured made her think of the beach. She shook it off, though, because if she told him, he'd probably think she was crazy, not that he thought she was sane already.

"You're more shy than you were in the circle," he said, popping open a can of soda. "I'm impressed that you were so witty out there. Most people here are pretty shy in front of everyone. It's something about acceptance."

She nodded her head slowly.

"What I said wasn't some cynical remark," she said. "I was speaking the truth about what I believe. Like you don't believe that every freaking one of us is an emotionally wrecked motherfu—"

He smiled softly and cut her off before he could hear her profanity.

"Spencer," he said her name firmly. "You're not emotionally wrecked, you're just hurt. There's a big difference." She could tell he chose his words carefully, otherwise she wouldn't have been so affected by them.

Her breathing was heavier than usual.

"What's with the wise guy attitude?" Spencer remarked, folding her arms.

He smiled softly at her blunt way of sharing her feelings.

"I used to sit in this circle like all of you," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It was tough. I thought I was emotionally wrecked and I thought it wasn't fixable. But I was wrong about both things. I was just hurting, and I could fix it. So I did. It wasn't easy, but I did. And you can, too. I know it's not easy being here, sharing feelings. It all seems so pathetic, but it really helps. Being emotionally wrecked is a brain problem, if you think about it. And you don't have a medical condition—you don't need to see a doctor in Radley. You're just hurting about something. I'm not going to dig into your personal life, but I can tell that it was just an event that hurt you."

Okay, she wasn't expecting some speech in response, but once again, she was affected. He was right... about everything. She knew she wasn't mentally disabled. She knew that she was just feeling awful inside because of her life, and what happened with Wren was just crossing the boundaries. She wasn't strong enough to hold it together. And that's why her family put her in the group, wasn't it? For support, not to give her operation on her brain.

"How come you're so young if you're leading this weird group?" she suddenly asked out of curiosity.

He chuckled.

"You're really blunt, you know," he said, causing her to smile. "I'm nineteen. I know, I'm no Shakespeare, but I try to be wise when I can. I quit school when I was seventeen, and I was put into this support group by my dad. After a year, I wanted to help out, so I work here now. Any more questions, or should I just send you a copy of my autobiography?"

"I can't help it, I'm curious," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "But I do have one more question, and it's kind of an important one."

"Yeah, just as important as the others," he sarcastically remarked, but then grinned at her. She liked witty people.

"You'd be surprised how important this one is," she said, and then giggled quietly. "What the hell is your name, Doofus?"

He grinned, and then began to laugh.

"And I wonder why I couldn't handle school..." he quietly said, and started laughing. "I'm Toby... Cavanaugh. I already know your name because of your unforgettable remark. To be honest, you're my favorite person here already." She smiled at his comment.

Giving her one last smile, he nodded his head and walked away. Maybe this 'support group' wasn't all that bad...


End file.
